


Expected Result

by hatrickane (dandelionwhiskey)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, Falling In Love, Fluff, Healthy Jonny, Hockey Is a Thing, M/M, Masturbation, Matchmaker Sharpy, Self-Discovery, Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2018-09-13 04:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9106777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionwhiskey/pseuds/hatrickane
Summary: Patrick is an engineer at a small tech company, and Jonny is his fussy client. Though Patrick is usually excellent at identifying issues and resolving them, Jonny is one problem he can't wrap his head around.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Celly1995](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celly1995/gifts).



> Based on the prompts "write-what-you-know" and "falling in love before they meet." I had a lot of fun with this!
> 
> In terms of writing what I know, I wrote about my own workplace/job. Because of that, I used a lot of jargon without really explaining what any of it meant - I hope it doesn't get too confusing and the story shines through!

(graphic by the wonderful [namesintherafters](http://namesintherafters.tumblr.com/))

 

Patrick gazed down the scope of the gun to line up his shot. His target was idle, fiddling with something in his hands, and completely unsuspecting. These were Patrick’s favorite targets. He held his breath to minimize his movements, lifted the scope to line up with the ridge between his target’s nose, and gently squeezed the trigger.

Direct hit. Pat’s face broke into a satisfied grin.

“God _damn_ it, Kaner!” Shawzy shouted from the aisle, rubbing his forehead where the dart had struck. Pat ducked behind his computer monitor to avoid the impending retaliation, which came in the form of a rubber ball that ricocheted off the wall behind him.

“You’re in my direct line of fire, man, what do you expect?”

Before Shawzy could reply, Pat caught sight of Hartman wildly waving his arms from the desk behind him. Shit, client call. Pat mouthed his apology and sunk back into his chair.

His morning was clear of meetings, but he did have an absolute shitload on his plate that day. The company had sent a few projects down his pipeline and they were going to be monsters. The developers were working for months on this monster grocery store app for Walmart and it was bound to be ridded with bugs that Patrick would have to catch before release.

It wasn’t that Patrick didn’t trust the developers, or whatever. It was just bound to happen with hugely scoped projects like that one - the wireframes alone were over a hundred pages of detailed functionality. He didn’t even want to think about it.

A backpack landed heavily beside him and startled him out of his stupor. “Yo,” he said to Corey, who definitely looked a little worse for the wear. “Big night?”

“I was here until three in the fucking morning,” he grumbled, unlocking his computer and swiping a hand down his face. “Goddamn clients asked for last minute security testing on a launch for _today_.”

Pat gave a low whistle. “Was it scoped?”

“Zero bill,” Corey said glumly. Ouch. Zero bill was demoralizing as shit - they still got paid, but out of the company’s pocket instead of the client’s. Didn’t look awesome on finance reports. “But at least it’s done, whatever, I’m going to pass it to production this morning.”

“They always put you on the shit projects,” Patrick said as he bit into a granola bar. “You gotta start slacking more, dude, otherwise the tough ones are going to keep coming your way.”

Corey rolled his eyes. He wasn’t exactly one for slacking - he had high hopes for making the Aibotronics Quality Assurance department the best one in the fucking world. Patrick couldn’t exactly fault him for it.

Pat had snuck his way into a job with the software development firm by having a keen eye and a winning smile during the interview. He didn’t look great on paper, not really, but his attention to detail and problem-solving skills meant he rocked the assessment test. Even after a year of working there, he was still astounded he’d managed it.

Software development wasn’t exactly his dream. He’d never quite figured that one out - at twenty-eight, it was just probably the right place to end up. The company was one of the best in the state, and even if it was only sixteen years old, it was gaining traction fast in the industry. Patrick was surrounded by some of the most brilliant people he’d probably ever meet in his life.

It helped that there was beer on tap in the kitchen and karaoke on Fridays.

“You going to Hartman’s game night tonight?”

“Nah,” Pat said, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on his desk. “I have a date.”

“No, you don’t,” Corey said flatly as he unlocked his computer. He had, like, seventy tabs open on Chrome. It was hard to look at. Patrick flipped him off.

“Netflix and bag wine counts as a date,” he said sharply. “Even if there’s no one else there.”

Corey raised an eyebrow at him while he fired up XCode to get a clean install file for the app he was working on. “What the fuck is bag wine,” he asked, not turning away from his screen.

“I took the bag out of the box,” Pat said lightly. He paused. “I don’t remember why.”

The silence he got in return was judgmental enough that Pat put his headphones on. He needed to concentrate, after all. He pulled up Hulu and set it to play his Watchlist on one monitor, and on the other he sifted through his emails looking for some actionable work.

He had an invite to a meeting at 2:30 that afternoon. New client, wanted a QA consult in the kick-off meeting. Nice. Patrick loved being involved at the start of projects, it meant he could tell the project managers and user experience designers exactly what not to do if they wanted the app to be a success. There was nothing worse than having a semi-workable piece of software land in your lap that had a billion totally preventable bugs.

“You know anything about this new project?” He asked, nudging Corey and pointing to his screen. He hooked his big headphones around his neck and turned his monitor so Corey could see. “Tazer?”

Corey shrugged. “I heard it’s some total fitness thing. Something about complete healthy living.”

“Oh,” Pat said, taking a long gulp of Red Bull. “Perfect. I’m the picture of healthy living.”

“You have seven empty Red Bull cans on your desk,” Corey pointed out. Patrick felt that was unfair, those were from the whole week. “It’s Wednesday.”

“Fuck you, I drink water,” said Patrick, putting his headphones back on defiantly. He opened up the scope of work for this Tazer app and started to read through the fine print, taking notes in another window over pain points he’d need to bring up in the meeting if it came to it.

Patrick prided himself on getting clients to like him. He’d been handed the most frustrating, stubborn, difficult clients and turned them to putty in his hands. It was something about his charming grin or ability to deliver on his promises on time that really got them revved up. There was a dude from some lift truck company that had an app built the year before who _still_ emailed Patrick to check up on him.

He was the client whisperer. And he’d really need to work some of his magic on this app, because the client’s proposal was absolutely insane. It was way too ambitious, filled to the brim with features and a thousand different screens that would take their design team months to suss out. He didn’t even know if the developers there had the right tools to make everything this guy wanted.

Patrick scrolled down to some of the forwarded communication with him. _Jonathan Toews_. Who the fuck went by ‘Jonathan?’ Pat rolled his eyes and skimmed some of the emails. Holy shit.

 

 **From** : [ jtoews@tazerinc.com ](mailto:jtoews@tazerinc.com)

**To** : [ brent.seabrook@aibo](mailto:brent.seabrook@aiboinics.com)tronics.com

 **CC** : [ psharp@tazerinc.com ](mailto:psharp@tazerinc.com)

**Subject** : FWD: Re: Re: Re: Application Details

Brent,

I read over your request for the expected application requirements. Below is a consolidated list of my minimum requirements.

  * Track the user’s weekly food ingestion
  * Analyze the user’s weekly food ingestion and produce a chart detailing the most optimal and suboptimal meals
  * Offer suggestions for improving food intake
  * Monitor indoor garden growth
  * Analyze indoor garden growth and produce a chart detailing the health of soil and plants
  * Offer suggestions for improving garden maintenance
  * Track the user’s weekly physical activity
  * Analyze the user’s weekly activity and produce a chart detailing the most optimal and suboptimal moments of activity
  * Offer suggestions for improving physical activity habits
  * Offer inspirational and motivational text for user to peruse at will



 

Patrick rubbed his temples. The list went _on_ after that. This guy wanted the app to basically do the job of four different apps, and for an absolutely measly budget. He wanted to call up the SE who estimated this shit and give him a piece of his mind.

Instead, he just decided to shoot off an email to his supervisor.

 

 **From** : [ patrick.kane@aibotronics.com ](mailto:patrick.kane@aibotronics.com)

**To** : duncan.keith@aibotronics.com

 **Subject** : Re: FWD: Re: Re: Re: Application Details

Dude. Look at this insane list of things the client is after - there’s no way we can do this under those time constraints. The developers alone will need twice that amount, not to _mention_ the new intake process takes a few days at least.

We gotta say something. Who should I talk to? Seabrook?

 

Patrick sent it off and sighed. Luckily, he had a couple of other projects to work on in the meantime to distract himself from the impending disaster that was the Tazer app. That afternoon meeting was _not_ going to go well.

If Pat’s home life had been a little bit better, maybe he’d have more patience for this stuff at work. But his small apartment with its thin walls and his puny bank account were just constant reminders that he hadn’t quite figured his shit out.

He had good friends. He loved his job - really, despite how much he complained. He just wished he had someone to complain to, sometimes. He didn’t think it was too much to ask. He’d listen to them, too. Obviously. He’d be a kickass boyfriend.

But he tried not to think about that kind of thing too much. He wanted to focus on his successes, like nailing Hartman right in the back of the head with one of his rubber-tipped darts or passing some of the more complicated projects onto the clients bug-free.

So, Pat worked, and he snacked, and he pined a little bit for that one dude in Sales with the tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. He tried not to daydream about what they looked like.

Halfway through a stick of beef jerky, Patrick got a new message in his inbox. He hoped it was Duncan getting back to him, because otherwise it was probably just some irritating recruiter spam from LinkedIn. When he opened it up, however, he was greeted with the name Jonathan Toews.

 

 **From** : jtoews@tazer.com

 **To** : patrick.kane@aibotronics.com

 **CC** : duncan.keith@aibotronics.com

 **Subject** : Re: Re: FWD: Re: Re: Re: Application Details

Patrick,

I’m sorry to hear you don’t approve of my outlines for my application. I assure you I’ve run this scope of work through many different rigorous potential scenarios and this plan will reap the largest rewards for the effort put in.

If you would like to discuss your concerns more directly, I expect you’ll be present at our 2:30 meeting today. I look forward to hearing your improvement plan.

Best,

Jonathan

 

Oh, God. Patrick had accidentally CC’d the client on his email to Duncan. Of course. He groaned and thunked his head down on his desk, startling Corey enough to prompt him to pull out his ear buds. “You okay, bud?”

“I am truly fucked,” he said lightly.

///

After getting chewed out by Duncan, Patrick spent most of his day trying to draw up a more realistic proposal for Jonathan. It wasn’t his fucking _job_ , that’s what project managers and solutions engineers were for, damn it. But he’d gotten himself into the mess and it was his responsibility to save their relationship with the client.

He wasn’t good at this kind of stuff though, the selling point. He knew the numbers, he knew that it was too complicated and they didn’t have enough time to do it all, but he didn’t know how to sell that to the client without diminishing their own skills. Basically, he was screwed.

Patrick sheepishly shuffled into the meeting where Duncan and Seabrook sat, eyeing him warily.

“I’m _sorry_ , guys,” he said for the trillionth time, collapsing into a chair and producing his notebook that was scribbled with his sort of half-assed ideas. “I know I screwed up. Just let me talk to the guy, you know I can be a charmer.”

Seabrook snorted and Patrick flipped him off as he settled into one of the uncomfy conference room chairs. “All right,” Brent said, “I guess it’s time to do this.”

Duncan signed into the conference call, keeping his dagger eyes on Patrick the entire time. “Hello,” answered a low, flat voice, and Patrick just knew that had to be Jonathan.

“Hi, Jonathan,” Seabrook said, “it’s Brent here at Aibotronics. I’ve got Duncan and Patrick on the line.”

“Hello, Brent,” said Jonathan. His voice wasn’t anything special, kind of monotone and with a significant Canadian accent, but Patrick found himself wanting to hear more regardless. “I’m here with Sharp - uh, Patrick Sharp.”

“Two Patricks, that oughta be fun,” said a different voice on the other side of the line. “Hey, why don’t we call your Patrick ‘Peekaboo’ instead? Y’know, on account of his hiding then surprising us with his critiques.”

Patrick flushed deeply. The other Patrick was kind of a dick. “I, ah,” he started, but Seabrook cut him off.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” he said, “we call him Kaner, here.” Patrick deflated with relief and sent Brent a gracious look.

“Kaner it is,” said Jonathan. “So, Kaner. Why don’t we go over your thoughts?”

Pat swallowed thickly. “Um, yeah,” he started, “so first of all, I wanted to apologize for the tone of my email. It was unprofessional, even internally.” There was silence on the other end of the phone, so Patrick figured he wasn’t exactly forgiven yet. “So, um, I’ll just jump right in.”

“Go ahead,” said Jonathan.

After a deep breath, Patrick just started talking. He wasn’t even listening to himself, really, just stumbling over his notes and trying to make some sort of sense to the clients. Usually, he was totally coherent and confident and could make the clients chuckle, but this time he was almost in a trance-like state while he rattled off his numbers.

“So, basically, with all the different functionalities you’re looking for, it’s going to require at least a thousand more development hours and probably another eighty hours of testing. We could cut down the time by putting more people on the project, but that’ll eat away at budget.”

Brent was peering at him and Patrick ducked with embarrassment. He was definitely overstepping his bounds, there - he wasn’t a project manager or an account executive and it absolutely wasn’t his job to give estimates like that. He was just going with his gut.

“Brent?” said Sharp from the other end of the phone line.

“He’s probably right, Jonathan,” Seabs said despondently. “I apologize that this wasn’t caught before the scope was signed, but with the reality of the requirements you’re looking for, it’s a big endeavor.”

There was quiet from the clients and Patrick rubbed the heel of his palm into his eye. He really didn’t want to lose these guys and have Duncan and Seabrook hate him forever. Or lose his fucking job.

“I think I’d like to work more with Patrick to find a compromising solution,” said Jonathan. Pat gaped at the conference phone. “He seems to have an understanding of what expectations will entail what kind of work. That’s the kind of information I’m looking for.”

“Sure,” said Duncan, and Patrick was starting to get really sick of the way he was getting glared at. He crossed his arms over his chest and slumped in his chair. “We can make sure Patrick is in future meetings.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sharp, “are you guys talking about me, or Peekaboo?”

Seabrook _tried_ to hide his laugh behind a cough, but Patrick caught it anyway. He added Brent to his mental list of people to shoot with the hard-tipped darts.

“I’d rather chat with Patrick one-on-one, if you don’t mind,” said Jonathan. “I think we could work something out pretty quickly if we’re allowed off the leash a little bit. If it doesn’t work out, I promise not to end our arrangement because of him this time, either.”

And that was Jonathan cracking a fucking joke. Patrick shook his head fast and desperate but Duncan was already answering, “yeah, all right. I’ll send an email with the new agreement parameters, just respond to that and you and Patrick can get cracking.”

They signed off with pleasantries, and a very silky “I’m looking forward to working with you, Patrick,” from Jonathan.

“Peekaboo,” Sharp corrected.

It was going to be a long month.

///

Jonathan scheduled consistent meetings at 1pm three times a week. Patrick thought that was a little bit overkill - and just after lunch, which meant he was always a little sleepy when they spoke. It didn’t help that Jonathan’s voice wasn’t exactly the most lively tone in the world.

What Patrick did learn, though, was Jonathan was smarter than he’d originally given him credit for. He spoke very deliberately, and even occasionally cracked a joke for Patrick’s benefit. It didn’t take too long for them to build a rapport - even if it was mostly Jonathan pitching ideas and Patrick shooting them down.

“What if we create separate user types for each level of the application?” Jonathan would offer.

“That can be a logistical nightmare,” Patrick would say, then explain how multi-level user testing presents hours of convoluted back-and-forth between QA and development that would end up being extremely expensive for the Tazer group.

Patrick’s irritation slowly melted into guilt over a few weeks. Jonathan was so earnest and determined, but his company just didn’t have the budget to do everything he wanted. He refused to give up, though, and that recalcitrance made Patrick smile into his headset.

He had no idea what Jonathan looked like - they did phone conferences while Jonathan was driving or Patrick was testing for other projects. That didn’t stop his imagination from trying to form a face to go with the voice - something serious and handsome, maybe with a hidden smirk. He wondered if Jonathan thought about what _he_ looked like.

After a couple of weeks, Jonathan asked Patrick to call him Jonny. It was during some tangential story about fishing over the summer, absolutely nothing to do with the project, and Patrick realized just how often that really happened.

“You can call me Pat,” Patrick offered in return, “or Kaner. Nickname from my hockey buddies.”

A beat of silent surprise greeted him on the other line. “You play hockey?”

Patrick shrugged, leaning back in his chair and idly tossing a dart Hartman’s way. He missed by a mile, but almost got Shaw in the crossfire, so that was a little bit of a consolation. “Nothing too serious, just at the rec center a few times a month. What, didn’t peg me for the athlete type?”

Jonny laughed quietly and Pat gave himself a mental high-five. “I guess not. Are you any good?”

“Duh, I’m the best,” Patrick grinned, bouncing in his chair. He heard Jonny’s tongue-click of disapproval, but that only made him smile wider. He knew, at this point, that it was a positive noise from Jonny. “What about you?”

“Sometimes,” Jonny said, and no matter how much Patrick needled him, he never got any more information than that. He figured Jonny had to stay active somehow; he was probably in one of those amateur leagues in town and took it way too seriously.

It always boiled back down to the work at some point in the call, which allowed Patrick to focus and stay on his toes. When Jonny expressed his appreciation as they signed off, Pat’s face went warm every time.

///

“We’re heading to El Loro for lunch, wanna come?” Shawzy asked Patrick as he shrugged a jacket on. “Midday margaritas!”

“I can’t,” Patrick sighed. “Got my one o’clock.”

Shaw made a face. “Oh, that client from hell? Man, he’s got your balls under his shoe.”

Patrick laughed weakly as guilt settled in his stomach. “Yeah, man, he’s the worst.”

“Good luck, dude,” Shaw said, whistling a funeral dirge as he walked toward the door with Hartman and Trevor. Patrick watched them go and found himself less disappointed with himself for not heading out to lunch, but more for throwing Jonny under the bus.

When his Skype rang with the incoming call from Jonny, Patrick picked it up on the first ring.

“Yo,” he said to Jonny’s ‘hello,’ and he’d already forgotten about lunch.

///

“Are you eating?” Patrick accused the following week. Jonny cleared his throat guiltily.

“Sharpy stole my lunch,” he mumbled. Patrick’s eyebrows raised and Jonny must have assumed by his silence that he was surprised, so he went on. “He eats earlier than me, and sometimes he forgets to pack his own lunch. He’s got two kids. So, he buys me food and I eat a little later.”

“Why doesn’t he just buy himself food?” Patrick asked. The more he learned about Patrick Sharp, the less he liked him. But Jonny’s responding chuckle is affectionate, if slightly bitter.

“It’s just Sharpy,” he said, as if that explained anything. “If you knew him better, you’d… well, let’s just say he’s a good guy, deep down.”

Patrick hummed thoughtfully. “He’s your best friend, then,” he said. He got these little snippets, sometimes, of what Jonny was really like when he wasn’t trying to destroy Patrick’s life with his outlandish ideas for the app. Patrick liked those moments.

“I guess,” said Jonny. “I don’t really have a lot of, uh. I mean, I’m not very social.”

“What, you?” Patrick teased, cracking open a Red Bull can. “But you’re so personable and charming.”

It was a dumb thing to say to a client - whether teasing or serious, it was completely inappropriate. Patrick sat up a little straighter in his chair, preparing to be scolded. But Jonny just huffed and noisily chewed on whatever undoubtedly healthy snack he was eating.

“Sorry, I didn’t know it was better to be brash and flippant,” he chirped, and Patrick beamed with pride. “All right, let’s get to business.”

///

“I think we’re making progress,” Patrick said a few meetings later. “We’ve almost got a sustainable plan, here.”

“I didn’t think it would take this long,” Jonny sighed, and Patrick felt a little sting of admonishment.

“Oh, I, um,” he stuttered, “I’m not a project manager. This stuff isn’t really my… wheelhouse. If you’re looking for a quicker resolution, I can send you back to Brent.”

“No,” Jonny said firmly. “I value your perspective, Pat.”

“You just like me better,” Patrick teased, but Jonny didn’t argue with him.

///

“So you’re telling me,” Patrick drawled, “that you actually prefer Die Hard 3 to the original?”

“I just think as a third in the series, it had more to stand up against and pulled it off.”

Patrick snorted loudly into the phone. “It had a lot to stand up against because the original Die Hard is a perfect movie and though Zeus Carver is the fucking man, it does not mean that he holds a candle to John McClane alone.”

“We’ll just have to disagree,” Jonny said, and Patrick could practically hear the sound of him shaking his head in disapproval.

“Good thing we’re used to that,” he said. Jonny hummed his agreement.

///

“Your spreadsheets are very neat,” Jonny complimented him. Patrick blinked in surprise.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he said, “thanks, Jonny.”

“I’m a total mess with that kind of thing,” said Jonny, almost bashful with the admission. “I can’t seem to stay organized.”

Patrick couldn’t help it. His chest was all warm with affection, fingers twitching on his mouse. “I could share some templates with you,” he said. “I could get your Google Drive cleaned up in no time.”

“That would be great,” Jonny said in a rush of words, “but… I can’t. Tazer group won’t pay for your time.”

“Pro bono,” said Patrick with a small shrug. “Just send me your credentials, I’ll fix everything up for you.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Jonny promised. Patrick didn’t even care, as far as he was concerned Jonny didn’t owe him a thing.

///

Patrick hung up from his first meeting of the week with Jonny and stood up to stretch, shake out the kinks in his body. Ryan was watching him kind of suspiciously, so Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets and walked over. “What’s up, Hartman?”

“You never talk about work in those meetings,” he said slowly. “And look at you, you’re all…” he waved his hand up and down at Pat. “Smiley.”

“Smiley?” Patrick repeated, and Shaw wheeled around in his chair to face them.

“He’s right, dude,” Shawzy said. “You’re all twitterpated and shit.”

“Twitterpated? What the fuck are you guys talking about?” It was like they were speaking a different language. Patrick wasn’t even sure what they were accusing him of, he’d much rather keep his head down and do normal projects rather than this extra work that he doesn’t get paid nearly enough for.

Shaw rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a client crush, man. No worries, it happens to the best of us.”

Patrick balked. “I do not have a client crush!” He argued, but even as the words left his mouth he realized that wasn’t true. He looked forward to talking to Jonny, and he did feel better afterward. He liked learning things about him, teasing him, getting teased back. He didn’t care if they barely got any work done, he just wanted to chat with Jonny.

Ryan threw a dart at him and hit him on the cheek. “You’ve got it bad, Kaner.”

“Fuck you,” he mumbled, no heat in his voice. He turned on his heel and went to the kitchen to make a packet of ramen noodles.

As he watched the bowl turn in the microwave, Patrick’s thoughts tiptoed back to Jonny. Patrick hardly knew him, really, aside from the small snapshots he was able to put together. He didn’t even know what the guy looked like. He knew he was a health nut, so he was probably super fit, and he was smart enough to be in his position at Tazer group.

But he didn’t know the important stuff, like what he smelled like or how big his smile was, or if he was even single. Patrick surmised as much, because he never brought up a significant other, but just assuming wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

Not that getting anywhere was really an option, anyway.

It ate at him. He munched on his ramen and idly scrolled through some basic test plans, just trying to fill his time until the end of the day so he could go home and stew in peace.

///

Patrick deliberately missed their next meeting.

He snuck out to a nearby Starbucks and grumpily stewed in the corner while he drank his depth charge. Talking to Jonny just felt completely incomprehensible, knowing that he was harboring this totally inappropriate crush. His guilt, of course, was overwhelming. His phone buzzed - probably with messages from Seabrook - but Patrick ignored it.

He tried to think up some excuse for being a coward. Family emergency was vague enough, but he inexplicably didn’t want Jonny to worry. Not that Jonny would worry about him. He got caught up in the same circular, nonsense logic that an hour passed without him even noticing.

The Starbucks was fairly empty at this time of day, just a few people working. There was a girl wearing a sweatshirt touting the local college who was furiously typing on her laptop, probably working on a final paper. Patrick was jealous of her dedication.

Up against the window, there was a hot guy fiddling with his phone and drinking tea out of a mug instead of a Starbucks cup. Patrick wondered if hooking up with someone might help him get over this thing with Jonny, help him focus on his work again. Patrick tried to work up the nerve to go talk to him, but the jitters from his caffeine talked him out of it.

Whatever. Patrick just had to face the music. He threw away his empty coffee cup and left the shop, slipping into his car to head back to work.

///

Patrick shot off an apology email to Jonny and Sharp and CC’d Brent and Duncan on it. He offered some times to reschedule, but he couldn’t help but hope that Jonny didn’t respond. Maybe Patrick’s unprofessionalism lost them the client and he wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

“Cheer up, Buttercup,” Hartman called out to him as he tossed a Nerf football at Patrick’s head. “Can’t have you moping and bringing the whole vibe down.”

“I’m fine,” Pat grumbled, stashing the football to get revenge later. “I’m just going to work from home for the rest of the day, I think.”

Shaw frowned at him. “Everything okay, Kaner?”

“Yeah, man,” Patrick said, waving off the concern. “I don’t have any work right now, anyway.”

Back at home, Patrick settled back into his armchair and sulked. His petulance was frustrating him. It wasn’t as if his affinity for Jonny was detrimental to their work, but if it consumed him any more he was going to be in trouble.

He sighed and leaned back into the plush leather of his chair, pressing his warm palm into his thigh. He thought about the guy at the coffee shop, the curve of his lips and the pull of his eyebrows, and fell into it. He palmed gently at his dick, working himself up to hardness in his jeans as he pressed his thumb against the tip of it.

Patrick took a deep breath and gently rolled his hips against his palm, thinking about the pink tips of the guy’s ears and how his slender fingers moved along the touch screen of his phone. He thought about how those fingers would feel pressing against Pat’s mouth or hips.

Inevitably, though, Patrick thought of Jonny. He heard Jonny’s voice, low in his ear, laughing or droning on about incomprehensible standards for his app. That really got him going, little sparks of warmth tickling down his legs. He pushed his hand into his shorts and started to gently stroke himself, imagining Jonny there with him.

Jonny’s lips were probably so soft. Patrick knew he was well-hydrated. Jonny was probably all smooth skin and muscles, because Patrick knew he loved to exercise. Jonny probably tasted like peppermint tea, because Patrick knew it was his favorite. His hands were smooth and strong and Patrick wanted them exploring his body.

He got off a few minutes later, shooting onto his t-shirt, absolutely drenched in guilt.

///

After a night’s sleep, he felt a little bit better. He could chalk it up to a bad day and move on. He got to work early, before most of the people in his department. The lights in their area were still dim and Patrick didn’t bother turning them on, the glow from his computer screen enough for the time being.

He opened up his email and saw no response from Tazer group. What he did see, though, was a meeting invite from Brent for that afternoon.

It was a site meeting with the client. Their client. With Jonny. The night after he’d jerked off thinking about Jonny’s tongue in his bellybutton. Patrick needed coffee, stat.

The day was pretty much shot. He was jittery, unfocused, and couldn’t do anything but bounce his leg and refresh his calendar to watch his appointment get closer and closer. He couldn’t get over the fact that he was wearing jeans he hadn’t washed in a week and his shirt had a hole down by his hip. Not that Jonny would be looking at his hip, or whatever, but Patrick was still self-conscious.

Finally, it was time for him to gather his things and go meet the Tazer group in the nice conference room on the other end of the building. Part of him felt like they were his last steps to the guillotine; they were either about to be fired or Jonny wanted to extend their contract. Either way, Patrick felt doomed.

He found Brent in the kitchen, laptop tucked up under his arm, filling a mug of coffee. “Duncs is giving them a tour,” he said, not even waiting for Patrick to say hello. “Sharp is here too.”

Patrick’s heart sunk a little bit. “Are we - is it bad?” He asked quietly.

“I’m not fucking thrilled that you didn’t show yesterday,” Brent said, “but no, it’s not bad. Just don’t pull that again, you got it?”

Patrick swallowed, fully admonished. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, dude.”

“You’re lucky these guys like you so much,” Brent mumbled as he spilled coffee all over the kitchen counter. Patrick took his laptop from him so he could clean up. “I don’t know what magic you worked, but they want to extend our contract.”

Patrick sighed heavily. “Great,” he said weakly, and Brent peered at him.

“Things okay with the client?” He asked. “I know Duncan and I haven’t checked in with you a lot, but we were getting good feedback from them, so we thought things were going well.”

“It’s fine,” Patrick said, shaking his head as he took the sopping wet paper towels from Seabrook’s hands to dump them into the garbage. “Too fine, I guess,” he admitted softly. Seabrook whistled quietly.

“Okay,” he said with a short nod, “I get it. We can run whatever interference you need.”

Patrick felt affection bubble up in his chest as he gave Brent a grateful shoulder bump. “Thanks, man. C’mon, let’s see how this goes.”

When Patrick and Brent arrived at the conference room, the first thing that Patrick noticed was that Patrick Sharp was probably the most handsome guy he’d ever seen in his life. The second thing that he noticed was Jonny, dressed in a light grey blazer and red tie, had a perfectly crooked smile and that Patrick was thoroughly screwed.

The third thing Patrick realized was that Jonny had been at the coffee shop the day before, drinking peppermint tea from a mug and frowning at his phone. Patrick had almost fucking hit on him, made even more of a fool of himself than he already was, and avoided it because he was already stupidly crushing on the thought of the same guy. It made his head hurt.

“Hey, Peekaboo!” Sharp said, extending a hand out and jarring Patrick from his mental gymnastics. “It’s good to meet the person who’s single-handedly saving our asses.”

Patrick took his hand, trying not to stare at Jonny, and cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Well, it’s good to meet the person who keeps me employed.”

Sharp laughed, earnest and broad, and Patrick suddenly understood why he was Jonny’s best friend. All the sarcasm that Patrick had perceived before was completely overwritten by the affection in his smile.

“This is my partner in crime, Jonathan Toews,” Sharpy said, nudging Jonny forward toward Patrick.

“Hi,” Jonny said, awkwardly jutting his hand out. Pat took it and of course it was warm and dry and fit perfectly in Pat’s.

“Hi,” Patrick said. He was completely unable to keep the smile from breaking out on his face, and he was sure he looked ridiculous. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Jonny’s expression was imperceptible, but his light brown eyes had a small sparkle in them that practically blinded Patrick. “You too, Patrick.”

Brent cleared his throat loudly. “Should we get to it?”

As it turned out, the Tazer group was ready to begin development. Jonny was happy with the final plan that Patrick had presented the day before he missed their meeting and wanted to sign a contract before the day was done.

Patrick sat quietly as Jonny praised their work together. His eyes were so fierce, stuck on Pat’s while he talked about his work ethic and tenacity. The flush that crawled up Patrick’s neck was undoubtedly obvious to everyone in the room, but he just quietly thanked him and didn’t bring up that the majority of their meetings were discussing the fish Jonny had caught the weekend before or what Patrick was having for dinner.

Patrick’s stomach was twisted up the whole time, unable to keep his eyes away from Jonny’s cheekbones or the way his fingers folded over each other. If he thought he had a problem before, it was compounded and layered and disastrous by that point.

Eventually, the meeting had to end. Duncan and Sharp talked contracts, while Brent and Jonny threw small talk at each other and Patrick inched toward the door. “Hey,” Jonny said when he caught Patrick trying to sneak away. “Thanks again, Patrick. I think we’re going to have a very successful partnership.”

Patrick’s mouth went dry. “Uh,” he cleared his throat, “yeah. Me, too.”

“What are your plans after this, Jonathan?” Brent asked as he gathered his notebook and laptop up. “Sticking around the area?”

“I’m not sure,” Jonny said, eyes still on Patrick’s while he tucked his phone into his pocket. “Might just grab some coffee.”

The words rang in between Kaner’s ears and he realized that Jonny totally recognized him from the coffee shop the day before. Embarrassment wrapped him up tight; not only had Jonny made the connection, but he must have realized that Kaner was ditching him and totally agitated about it. Kaner wasn’t sure he’d ever felt worse in his life.

He ducked out of the conference room and practically ran back to his desk, thunking his head down on his keyboard when he got there.

“That bad, huh?” Corey asked from his adjacent desk.

“You have no idea,” Patrick moaned. He sat there, stewing, until he felt a strong poke in his shoulder. He looked up, expecting Duncs or Seabrook or hell, Jonny, but who he found was Patrick Sharp. “Uh.”

“Meet him for coffee,” Sharp said flatly. “If I have to spend another second of him reciting every conversation you guys had together, I’m going to stab myself with the chopsticks he forces me to eat lunch with.”

“When you steal his lunch, you mean,” Patrick said evenly. “You still owe him from last week.” Sharpy’s eyes widened and he clapped a hand down on Patrick’s shoulder.

“Buddy,” he said, laughing, “you two are a match made in heaven.”

Patrick rolled his eyes, but stood up and grabbed his keys from his desk. He felt warmth toward Sharp; he didn’t have to come all the way through their office to find Patrick. But he clearly gave a shit about Jonny, and somehow that included Patrick. The thought made him shiver.

“All right, I’m going,” said Pat. “But I’m billing you for the time.”

“It won’t be the first time I pay for one of your dates,” Sharp said, and Patrick flushed. “Get out of here, eh?”

///

Patrick found Jonny sitting at the same table by the window, nursing a steaming cup of tea.

He slid into the open chair, his heart firmly in his throat. Jonny’s eyes met his and instead of surprise, like Patrick was expecting, he got an eye roll. Well, off to a good start.

“Did Sharpy rat on me?” Jonny said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I wanted to,” Kaner argued as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I owe you a meeting, I guess, after blowing you off yesterday.”

Jonny shook his head, curling his fingers around his hot mug of tea. “I’m glad you did,” he admitted. “I realized that we hadn’t been getting a lot of work done, lately. You probably solved my problem a month ago.”

The words made Patrick smirk a little as he fiddled pointlessly with a straw wrapper on the table. “Then why did we keep talking?”

“Why do you think?” asked Jonny. Patrick made the gesture for him to keep talking, and Jonny laughed. It was a rare thing, and Patrick was delighted to put a visual to the sound he’d come to enjoy so much over the past couple of months. “Because I liked it.”

“I know,” Pat acquiesced. “Me, too. I didn’t think-”

“Me, neither.” Jonny shook his head. “Maybe we still can’t. I don’t know what your company’s rules are.”

Patrick sighed. For all that his job entailed identifying issues and offering solutions, he found himself drawing a completely blank sitting there across from Jonny. “I want to try your dumb kale shakes,” Patrick offered, and Jonny’s eyes couldn’t hold any more fondness if Patrick had hung the fucking moon.

“I want to intimidate your sister’s new boyfriend,” Jonny said, reaching his hand across the table to knuckle against Patrick’s busy fingers. “I want to fish at your favorite lake, and meet your crazy Russian friend, and watch hockey with you. I want to _play_ hockey with you.”

Kaner shook his head, hard, Jonny’s words all jumbled and confusing in his head. “Too many features for a first rollout,” he laughed, running his hand through his hair. “Scale down a little and you’ll have more long-term success.”

Jonny swept a hand over his face. “I guess I always want too much right away.”

“It’s okay,” said Kaner, his heart light in his chest, “that’s what I’m here for.”

If Jonny’s smile were any more charming, Patrick would probably have ended up just proposing on the spot. “All right, Patrick,” said Jonny, “where do you think we should start?”


	2. [Timestamp: After the App]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a porny timestamp.
> 
> Huge thanks to [allthebros](http://allthebros.tumblr.com) for the gifs!

 

“I don’t want to be part of your stupid documentary, Sharpy.”

“C’mon, turn around and introduce yourself.”

Patrick glares at his computer screen. “No.”

“Flash us those dimples.”

“You don’t even work here. Who let you in?”

“Turn around and I’ll tell you.”

Patrick heaves a heavy sigh and spins around in his computer chair, giving Sharpy’s camera a dead-eyed look. “I’m Patrick Kane, and I helped launch the Tazer app.”

Sharpy lowers the camera and slowly shakes his head. “Wow, Peeks. Oscar-worthy.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Patrick snipes back. “You’re the one interrupting me at work.”

“After a grueling six months of back-breaking work, you don’t want to celebrate launching the most successful fitness app in the continental United States?”

And really, Sharpy has a point. The Tazer app had skyrocketed to popularity after launch, mostly due to the handsome spokesperson who hit the press circuit hard and charmed the pants off everyone. Jonny had been gone for a month, his third trip out of recent memory, and Patrick had hardly seen him since they’d started their… whatever it is.

“It wasn’t all hard,” Patrick says defiantly. “Some parts were real nice.” He waggles his eyebrows just to get that condescending smirk off Sharpy’s face. It works.

“Gross, I don’t want to hear about you and Tazer’s office sexcipades.”

Patrick purses his lips and leans back in his chair. “We’ve never done it at work, actually. Might need to amend that. Does your office have a lock on it?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Sharpy says. “And you’re never allowed in there.”

“Prude.” Patrick stands up from his chair and stretches his arms high above his head until he hears the pleasant pop in his lower back. Man, he really needs a new chair. “Take me out to lunch and I’ll sign your dumb release form.”

Sharpy rolls his eyes, but dramatically sweeps his arm out in front of him to allow Patrick to lead the way.

They end up at a diner a few blocks from the office and Patrick peers at Sharpy, who is furiously texting. He kicks him under the table.

“Ow, fuck you,” Sharpy says with a glare. “Is the kiddo not getting enough attention?”

“Fuck _you_ ,” Patrick says lightly. He drags a french fry through the mustard on his plate and ignores the face Sharpy makes at him. “So, tell me about this movie.”

“The app is getting a lot of attention,” Sharpy says, “uh, as you know. And I think the people will want to know about all the faces behind the scenes, all the little cogs that keep the big wheel moving. Like you, little Peeks.”

“I’m not a little cog,” Patrick mumbles.

“Anyway, you just have to tell me about how you approached the idea, how you helped with your little one-on-one sessions with the big man.”

“Oh, it’s a porno,” Patrick says, and Sharpy kicks _him_ under the table. “Okay, okay, I get it. But shouldn’t you be interviewing, like, the developer?”

“I am, dumbass.” Sharpy oversalts his mashed potatoes. “You’re just a part of the movie, not the star.”

“I’ll be the star no matter what,” Patrick says reasonably. “But, cool. Anything to help out TazerInc.”

Sharpy puts his fork down and folds his hands on the table, his food forgotten. Patrick isn’t sure he’s ever seen Sharpy look so serious, even in meetings. He puts down his half-eaten french fry and swallows.

“Look,” Sharpy says, “you and Jonny, your thing, it’s been going on awhile now. I just want to know where your head’s at.”

Patrick pauses for a long moment. “Are you asking me what my intentions are with your boss?”

“Yes,” Sharpy says with no humor in his voice. “Jonny’s a special dude, and he’s got a lot going for him right now. I like you, I just want to know you’re taking it seriously.”

Patrick’s cheeks heat up and suddenly he feels like he’s being admonished. “I- I mean, of course I’m taking it seriously. Jonny’s the best.”

“Do you love him?”

“What?” Patrick says, alarmed. “We haven’t _said_ it or anything, if that’s what you mean.”

“It’s been, what, six months?”

Patrick flushes. Has it been that long already? With all of Jonny’s work and press, they hadn’t had a lot of time together to really define their relationship. “I just, I don’t,” Patrick stammers. “Where is this coming from? Did he say something to you?”

Sharpy shakes his head. “He’s been gone for a month now, his face plastered all over the news and internet. You gonna be able to handle that?”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Patrick says earnestly. “I just miss him.”

Sharpy seems somewhat satisfied with that answer, but almost as if he wants to ask more questions. He picks up his fork.

“I miss him too,” Sharpy says.

“You two are total saps.”

Patrick’s heart leaps to his throat as Jonny approaches their booth, a half-grin on his face that always manages to make him melt. He slides out of his seat before he can think about it and yanks Jonny into a tight hug. The smell of fancy cologne drifts up and Patrick takes a deep breath of it. It reminds him of Jonny’s bedsheets.

“Welcome back, big shot,” Patrick murmurs into his ear. Jonny chuckles and extracts himself from the hug, but only far enough back so he can plant a light kiss on the side of Patrick’s mouth.

“Good to be back. Hey, Sharpy.”

Sharpy gives him a tight hug and pulls him down into the booth with them. Like clockwork, the waiter arrives with a green salad, dressing on the side. Patrick eyes Sharpy suspiciously.

“Did you know he was coming?”

Sharpy shrugs. “Yeah, whatever. Maybe.”

“And you asked me all that embarrassing shit!”

“What embarrassing shit?” Jonny asks, perhaps a bit to eagerly for Patrick’s taste.

“I wanted him to walk in right when you confessed your undying love for him, but you went all off-script,” Sharpy pouts. “I’ll get you next time.”

Jonny’s ears turn a soft pink color, the same way they do anytime Patrick tries to have a personal conversation with him. His embarrassment is too papable and it usually makes Patrick back down. He has a feeling they have a conversation in their future, though, and probably a mildly uncomfortable one. He hopes Jonny will be able to put up with it.

“Finish up,” Jonny says, nodding toward their food. “We have some things to talk about back at TazerInc.”

//

As it turns out, Sharpy’s office doesn’t have a lock on it. But it’s easy to fit a chair underneath the handle so no one can walk in uninvited.

Jonny is mouthing at Patrick’s shoulder, continuing to unbutton his shirt so he can push it all the way off. Right now, Patrick has managed to get one arm out of it and around Jonny’s waist where he can thumb at the small of his back.

“You’re not really going to fuck me on Sharpy’s desk, are you?” Patrick asks breathlessly. Jonny laughs and kisses the underside of Patrick’s jaw.

“No time for that, but maybe I’ll blow you.”

“A blowjob from the CEO, huh,” Patrick says. “What did I do to deserve that?”

“You love me,” Jonny says, finally tugging Patrick’s shirt all the way off and fitting his mouth around a nipple. Patrick swallows down a sigh and strokes his fingers through Jonny’s short hair.

“I never said that.”

“You do, though.”

“Whatever. Narcissist.” Jonny pecks his lips.

“Yeah, maybe so,” he shrugs, and fuck, Patrick _does_ love him.

“I like this cut on you,” Patrick says instead, stroking the short buzz at the base of Jonny’s skull. “I feel like I can see more of you.”

Jonny straightens up and kisses Patrick on the mouth, pulling him in close so they can just be pressed up together for a few moments. It’s a one of those small gestures Jonny always does that makes Patrick shiver. It’s like he knows what Patrick wants before Patrick even has the chance to think about it.

Patrick spreads his legs and tugs at the back of Jonny’s shirt insistently. “Come on, your turn.”

Jonny shucks his shirt off and tosses it, accidentally knocking over one of Sharpy’s shiny awards. Patrick muffles a laugh into Jonny’s shoulder.

“He’s going to kill us.”

“Better make it worth it, then,” Jonny murmurs, and the sound of it goes through Patrick’s body like a lightning bolt. Jonny thumbs across the front of Patrick’s pants just over the button, his knuckles pressing right up against Patrick’s dick.

“You’re killing me,” Pat says. Jonny raises an eyebrow.

“Could you be more impatient?”

“A hot guy is about to _suck_ my _dick_ , of course I’m impatient.”

Jonny rolls his eyes as he drops down to his knees and runs his big hands up Patrick’s thighs. “All right, let’s go.”

Patrick unbuttons his own pants - a travesty, really - and pushes them down to his ankles. He’s still got his shoes on, so it’s not exactly the most graceful, but it works well enough for Jonny to push his knees apart and rub his cheek against Patrick’s dick through his underwear.

He’s already hard from all the making out. Occasionally he can hear a phone ringing out on the other side of the door, which does something funny to his stomach, like people might know what they’re up to in here. By the time Jonny pulls him from his boxers, he’s already wet at the tip.

“Goddamn, Patrick,” Jonny says. He presses his lips to the head and just keeps them there for a second, and Patrick shivers from head to toe.

Jonny blows him like he does everything, all meticulous and precise. He’s been learning Patrick’s body inside and out for months now, and he always manages to apply it at the best times. Like now, when he takes Patrick deep into his throat and presses his fingers into the crease of his thigh, Patrick can’t help but moan.

He attempts to muffle it with the back of his hand but even he knows it was a little too loud. Jonny pulls off and raises an eyebrow at him. “Patrick.” It’s supposed to be an admonishment, sure, but Jonny’s voice is all fucked up and hoarse and all it does is make Patrick grunt again.

“What do you expect,” Patrick says. He yanks Jonny up to kiss him and move his hand to the front of Jonny’s pants.

“Uh-uh,” Jonny says. We’re saving that one for later.”

“Oh my god, get me off, you asshole,” Patrick groans. Jonny laughs against his cheek and puts his hand on Patrick’s wet dick. He jerks him off with determination, mantaining a truly impressive level of eye contact. Patrick can hardly keep his own eyes open, but he manages to just to look at Jonny, just to appreciate what he has in front of him. He licks Jonny’s bottom lip, mouthing uselessly at him while Jonny expertly takes him apart with only his hand.

“Can you,” Patrick starts, “please.”

Jonny grins and hikes Patrick’s legs up, putting him on display right there on Sharpy’s desk. He runs his fingers against up and down the crease Patrick’s ass, pressing gently against his hole. “Like that?”

Patrick nods firmly, words escaping him as Jonny continues to push all his buttons. Later that night, when they’re back in Jonny’s bed, Patrick will make it up to him tenfold. He knows how much Jonny likes his ears kissed. He knows how Jonny likes it when Patrick is on top, riding him with all he’s got.

Right now, though, Patrick is happy to let Jonny get him off.

It doesn’t take too long, with Jonny sucking him off while gently stroking his hole; a promise of what’ll happen later. Patrick comes with a grunt and digs his heel into Jonny’s back, biting down hard on his lip to prevent himself from being any louder.

Jonny pulls off and wipes his hand across his lips, eyebrow raised. “Good?”

Patrick hooks a hand around Jonny’s neck to pull him down into a deep, thorough kiss, where Patrick gets the thrill of tasting himself on Jonny’s tongue.

With their foreheads resting together, Jonny runs the tips of his fingers down Patrick’s sides.

Suddenly, there’s a loud _slam_ at the door and the handle begins to violently jiggle.

“You two had better get out of my office right the fuck now,” Sharpy hisses from the other side of the door. “Or I’ll tell everyone here what I know you’re getting up to.”

Jonny laughs, his eyes sparkling and mirthful, as he gropes for his shirt and slips it over his head. “No one’s in here,” he calls back.

“Yup,” Patrick says. “Just your dumb stress ball and your hard drive full of porn.”

Patrick and Jonny clean themselves up through more incessant door pounding. Just before Jonny is about to pull the chair out from under the door handle, Patrick stops him with a soft touch to the wrist.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m really, uh. I’m proud of you. All the work you’ve been doing, all the travel, it’s really amazing press for the app. But I can’t pretend it doesn’t suck.”

Jonny’s eyes flick up and down Patrick’s face for a moment before he settles on looking right at him. “Maybe you could come with me on the next trip,” he says, just a bit hesitant. “If you wanted.”

Patrick’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest as he nods, hopefully not too eagerly. “Yeah, I think I have some PTO saved up.”

The smile that breaks out on Jonny’s face is enough to make Patrick weak in the knees, but he doesn’t have long to enjoy it before Sharpy shouts through the door.

“I can _hear_ you two having a moment. Stop being in love for two seconds and let me into my goddamn office.”

Jonny dislodges the chair and Sharpy barrels in, panting, and Patrick can’t help but laugh at how disheveled he looks. Sharpy whirls on him.

“If you two fucked on my desk, I’m quitting.”

Patrick looks at him thoughtfully. “Define ‘fucked.’”

“I’m sending you both the cleaning bill.”

///

“Are you going to talk about me on TV?” Patrick asks a week later. They’re in a hotel room in St. Louis, playfully trying to snatch the remote from one another. “The dashing quality assurance tester who saved your pitiful app from a no-launch existence?”

Jonny rolls his eyes and allows Patrick to take the remote from him. “I’m sure Sharpy’s documentary will cover all the details.”

“What about your doting boyfriend who takes time off work to travel the world with you?”

“I might talk about that,” Jonny says, pursing his lips. “But only if they ask. I don’t want them putting you in front of the camera.”

Patrick drops the remote control, aghast. “Excuse you, the camera loves me.”

“I saw the footage Sharpy shot.”

“Oh, fuck you, I’m a star.”

“You’re something, all right.”

Patrick launches at him, and the remote stays forgotten on the hotel carpet for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please join me on [tumblr!](http://hatrickane.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays, and I hope you enjoyed!


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